The following week—and, oh, how lonely and drearily it had passed to
parent, child, and lover; they brought the accused before the pasha for
trial. It was a public trial, and a multitude had come together to
witness the proceedings—for the accusation of Orien Fez, his high
position among the people of Tangiers on the one hand, and the beauty of
the young prisoner, the affecting circumstances attending her arrest, on
the other, were sufficient causes to attract more than usual attention.
Arrayed still in the bridal garments, the dazzling jewels and splendid
apparel, Myrrah stood before the pasha, facing the bold, and villainous,
and unrelenting accuser.
Old Raguel and Othniel were also there. Since her first examination
before the cadi, Myrrah had not been permitted an interview with them;
and the sight of the poor old man, who seemed to her to have grown ten
years older in those few days, and the pale and haggard countenance of
the loved Othniel, quite overwhelmed the young girl; for a moment her
head was bent, and her slight form strove in the tempest of grief—but
strength came to her again, and she stood up once more calm and
self-possessed, to be tried for life!
Again was the false charge preferred—again the answer of the captive
was demanded.
“What sayest thou to this charge, maiden?”
“That it is false—that I am not guilty,” was the firm reply.
“What! dost thou deny having ever professed thy faith in our great
Prophet? Wherefore, then should these witnesses declare against
thee—are they thine enemies?”
“I know naught save this—they are _false_ witnesses. Until the day when
the accusation was first made, I had never seen them—I know them not.
Orien Fez I _have_ seen before; and I believe that enmity, which has
nothing to do with my religion or thine, has made him bring this false
charge against me.”
“Thou standest alone, woman, and mere assertions cannot avail. These
witnesses are truthful believers—but thou, we know not what thou art.”
“She is a woman who, during the fifteen years I have ministered in the
synagogue of Tangiers, has remained constant in the worship of the God
of her fathers,” hurriedly exclaimed the venerable priest, almost
weeping, who had come to listen with all a father’s affection and fear,
while the daughter of his heart was on trial.
“I am a true woman,” added the sweet voice of Myrrah. “From whence shall
I bring evidence to satisfy you that I lie not? Are not the words of my
people always set at naught? You will not believe me, yet have I ever
remained faithful to my God—none other have I ever professed to serve.”
“Thou knowest the punishment awarded to those guilty of sin such as this
of which thou art accused—it is death, death of torture—to be burned
at the stake, and the body to be scattered to the winds of heaven.
Confess now—it is not too late; mercy may yet extend a pardoning hand;
profess anew thy faith in Mahomet; _repeat_ thy belief, ‘There is no God
but God, and Mahomet is his prophet!’”
There was a moment’s pause, a silence like that in the halls of death,
then Myrrah said slowly,
“Thou dost urge me to speak that which my lips have never yet
spoken—that which they dare not speak; wouldst thou have me declare my
faith, that thy prophet is a _false_ prophet? Wouldst thou have me say,
that to the God of Abraham _alone_ I bend my knee and my heart?”
A murmur of surprise and indignation went up from the Moors who were
gathered there, while the voice of many a Jew was heard in earnest
declaration, “Pasha, she is innocent—she is innocent.”
Raguel looked with mournful approval on his child as she spoke so
undauntedly; but boldly as her avowal was made, Myrrah dared not look
upon the father, nor on that other, dearer to her than life—Othniel.
The pasha was silent, he dreaded the utterance of the awful sentence.
Few who had witnessed his mode of conducting criminal cases, had
suspected there was a particle of feeling in the bloody-minded man; but
now he paused, and looked with sorrowful interest on the prisoner, and
his voice trembled, when at last he said,
“Death, then, can alone await thee! Consider this. Thou art young, and I
need not say thou art very beautiful. Thy marriage garments are
comely—the robes of life befit thee well. Canst thou falter in the
choice between life and awful death, joy and the lonely grave?”
“My child! my child!” cried Raguel, “God is merciful! He will forgive
thee! Do not choose death—can I live without thee? Myrrah! Myrrah,
_live_!”
A deathly paleness overspread the face of the poor, tempted young
creature; she wept. But ere long the weakness passed again. Looking
mildly upon her accusers and the judges, she said, solemnly,
“Ye _know_ that life is very sweet to me, for I am young—that it is
very fair to me, ye know, for there are some ties binding me to the dear
world, very hard to break. I have said that the charge spoken against me
is untrue; and the God of heaven knows that I have spoken honestly to
you. It is He who hath given me strength in this hour to declare that
death, even the horrible death you have said awaits me, is to be chosen
rather than life and recreancy to my religion—it is He who will support
me in the fiery trial.”
“My daughter,” exclaimed Raguel, “oh, take back those words! God surely
will forgive thee. I cannot lose thee! Wilt thou not choose as they
desire, then thou art still mine own? Thou hast not thought, Myrrah,
thou canst not guess the death of torture that awaits thee.”
“I know it all, dear father. But God will give me strength. The sin and
the shame of this deed rests not on us. No! thy long life of integrity
and steadfastness to the faith of our fathers shall not be shamed by me.
Thou couldst not desire it, my father!”
“Oh, Myrrah, for _my_ sake, then!” cried Othniel, for the first time
speaking, as he approached hurriedly and threw himself at her feet.
“Retract that determination while the pasha will permit thee. Wilt thou
leave me to die of grief; or more awful fate, to live alone without thee
in this dark world? Take back thy word. I entreat thee, believe in their
prophet, and live!”
There were no tearless eyes in that people gathered in the pasha’s
presence; in breathless interest turned they all to the young girl,
hoping to see her stern determination giving way to these appeals.
Myrrah turned her gaze from him, the passionate appealing of Othniel’s
dark eyes was more than she could bear, but her will bore her up
gloriously, though the voice, which shook as the aspen, told how poor
human nature suffered in that conflict between the pleadings of love and
the stern sense of duty.
“Othniel, it is between my God and thee I am called to determine. Thou
canst not secure to me life and thyself even one day, but _He_ can give
me, when one short pang is passed, an eternity of bliss; and _thou_
mayest share it, my father! Othniel, would ye have me choose for
time—for earth?”
There came no answer to the noble girl’s appeal. None dared to offer one
persuading word when this solemn reply of the Jewess was made.
“Hast thou chosen, maiden?” said the pasha at length, in a voice that
was scarcely audible.
“I have,” was the reply; “thy people are not my people, I dare not
confess thy God, and in so doing forsake and deny mine own.”
When this answer was given, the pasha, by a violent exertion mastered
his emotion, and arose, saying,
“Let the prisoner be conveyed to the dungeon; on the morrow, at sunset,
she must pay the death-penalty. Her own words have sealed her fate. Thus
perish the enemies and mockers of our holy religion; thus shall the
heathen learn that there is no God but God, and that Mahomet is his
prophet!”
These words were pronounced in a loud, stern voice; but the heart of the
man of power failed within him, as he looked on the beautiful victim of
the rigid laws of his country; and therefore it was that he caused to be
made known to the father and the betrothed that the prison door would be
open to them (contrary to the usual custom) all the following day.